


The Sin of Selflessness

by Blue_Lionheart



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety, But there is some comfort towards the end, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Depression, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd-centric, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, I just have them listed as a ship because that's part of how I interpret canon, Mental Health Issues, More Hurt Than Comfort, POV Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, not really shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29403849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Lionheart/pseuds/Blue_Lionheart
Summary: My take on Dimitri's character and transformation from Remire Village to after the Battle at Gronder.That was the way life was, it seemed. There was no right answer, except something he couldn’t do: not feel. Killing Edelgard felt wrong. Leaving his family unavenged felt wrong. Living without them felt wrong. Going to join them before fulfilling his responsibility to kill Edelgard felt wrong. If both options for every choice felt wrong, what was the right thing to do?Rated M to be safe for some dark themes.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The Sin of Selflessness

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to throw a warning in here that Dimitri has some pretty explicit self-hatred and suicidal thoughts/attitudes in this fic. This follows canon, so it does get better in the end, but this fic is mostly centered around Dimitri's thoughts during his extreme episodes of mental illness. If you think such content may be a trigger for you, or in any other way negatively impact your mental state, please don't hesitate to stop reading here or at any point throughout the story. Mental health comes first. :)

Dimitri had been struggling long before the realization that his stepsister was the Flame Emperor. He’d done his best to hide his savage nature, being as polite and kind as possible around the constant pounding in his head that made it difficult to concentrate on anything, let alone feel anything resembling happiness. He knew Felix would tell anyone who would listen what a boar he was, and he didn’t deny it to anyone Felix told. He especially didn’t deny it to himself, who Felix told every time he saw him. But he could just manage to keep the beast under control. He would never be able to make up for what he had done in the massacre in Duscur, but he could suppress that part of himself and ensure it never came back out. That was his plan, and it was working quite well even as he spent sleepless nights scouring the library for evidence that his uncle Arundel was indeed responsible for the tragedy, as he suspected. Up until he witnessed the senseless violence at Remire Village, Dimitri had even fooled himself into thinking he had himself and his demons under control.

But he had eventually run into that trigger, and the darkness filled his mind and spilled out his mouth in harsh words. He couldn’t even remember what he had said, exactly, but he could tell from the other Blue Lions’ reactions that it must have been something about the perpetrators of the incident deserving a violent death. Something far outside the realm of his normal demeanor of chivalry and compassion, and to them, something unexpected.

He apologized to his Professor after the incident was over. He didn’t have the courage to acknowledge any of what had happened in front of the others, but he couldn’t bear to let her think he wasn’t sorry. He was ashamed that she had gotten to see that side of him, a side he had told himself he would never show to anyone else again after Felix. He had told himself he wouldn’t allow it to exist inside him anymore. Yet it seemed he wasn’t strong enough to completely stamp it out. The Professor responded that he hadn’t been himself in that moment; she probably intended her words to be kind. But all he could think in dread was that it was indeed a part of him, and he had fooled her into thinking he was a decent person when in reality, he was just a failure too weak to even get rid of the parts of himself that were just as capable of anger and violence as the people he threatened.

He spilled out his story to her, trying desperately to explain the darkness that had made sense to him in that moment. And he told her that the reason he was at the Officers Academy was for revenge. As difficult as it was to get the words out, he was glad in the weeks that followed that he had opened up to her about such a thing. When he later hedged back on his promise for a class reunion and his wish that they could be together in the future, he hoped she understood that was why. Both were things he wanted, but both were part of a future he was not guaranteed to have. His only obligation in this life was to avenge the ghosts in his head, and if he died in the process, then so be it.

He pushed aside his faint regret at the idea that any future with his friends and Byleth would likely only ever be a fantasy. He honestly didn’t expect to live through his quest for vengeance. It was best to not make any promises he might not be able to keep.

But when Byleth’s father was killed, Dimitri realized that holding himself at a distance would not do any good. He could be there for her now, _needed_ to be there for her now. Whatever time he had left, he wanted to devote to her. He swore that he would always stand by her side, until the bitter end. He wasn’t sure when his end would come, but he could keep that promise at least. And he swore he would do whatever he could to help her avenge Jeralt’s death. He found that he trusted her to make the call of who needed to die. It amazed even him to think such a thing, when not too long ago he had mistrusted Byleth for fear that she was an unfeeling, cold-hearted killer. But now he found himself trusting her judgement wholeheartedly, and more than that, wanting to help her in any way he could.

After seeing her smile, he couldn’t stand to see the pain and emptiness in her gaze now. It reminded him of himself when he had first lost his family in the Tragedy of Duscur. If he could spare anyone what he had been going through for the past four years, he would do everything in his power to do so.

For a short while, he actually believed his words to Byleth, that everything would be okay. That their tears would dry up, and they could avenge their loved ones together, and move forward with their lives. Working together, it might be just a little bit easier. He might be able to actually survive his quest for vengeance. And once this threat was gone, they could go on living, and he might finally be able to dare to dream of a future with her in it. But just days after he talked to the Professor, he spotted the Flame Emperor talking with Monica and a strange man with white hair that was streaked through with a deep red the color of freshly welling blood. They were all conspiring close together on monastery grounds. Realizing the magnitude of this opportunity, he froze and tried to think.

 _Maybe I can get the information I need_ , he thought, hope and apprehension pounding almost painfully in his veins. _The definitive answer of who really killed my family. Who I must kill to avenge them..._ Deep in thought as he was, Dimitri almost leaped out of his skin at the sound of footsteps close by to him, but when he turned to look, he saw that it was the Professor, having finally emerged from her father’s office.

“Professor?” he greeted her hesitantly. Her expression held more life than it had in days, and he wondered if it had to do with the fact that she had seen who he was eavesdropping on. “We must remain quiet...” he breathed. He wished he could explain why but he was afraid any more words than strictly necessary might alert the plotting villains to their presence.

Thankfully, she didn’t argue and settled in beside him to listen. Her eyes landed on the new stranger. “What is that guy's name?” she whispered, seeming more curious and apprehensive than angry. Then again, he had never seen her angry before. It was possible that whatever rage she felt was simply icy and cold and beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed by the Ashen Demon whenever she decided.

“I don't know, but if we keep listening, we might be able to find out,” he whispered back, trying to match her apparent calm.

Monica was outrageously cheerful for someone who had just murdered a man in cold blood. “Oh, thank you,” she said to the white-haired stranger. “You saved me!”

The man didn’t seem amused or appreciative of the sentiment. “If you were to die, then the mystery of our bodies would be revealed,” he said harshly. “Preventing that was my only aim. I'm afraid you must remain, Kronya. There is something I need you to do.”

“Oh, of course,” said Monica, still annoyingly upbeat. Dimitri resisted the temptation to reach for his sword, the only weapon he had on him, furious on the Professor’s behalf. How dare this woman be happy while Byleth was suffering due to her actions? This was someone who clearly thought nothing of taking life, and he felt his skin itch and his head pound with hatred. “I am always happy to cooperate with Solon,” the red-haired girl continued, oblivious to Dimitri and his rage. “Leave it to me.”

The Flame Emperor made a scoffing sound. “How annoying,” he said in his strange, distorted voice.

There was something about his voice that seemed oddly familiar to Dimitri, something about the inflection, but the pitch and timbre were so warped that he couldn’t identify whoever the voice belonged to. Much like the Death Knight, Dimitri feared they wouldn’t be able to identify the culprit until even worse damage had been done. He clenched his hand in frustration but held his breath carefully, not daring to make a sound.

The unfamiliar man turned towards the masked figure and Dimitri could see his unnatural blank eyes gleam in the light as they shifted to his leader. “Flame Emperor... Is she offending you? Unfortunately, we cannot take our eyes off her, so there is nothing to be done.”

It seemed both the Flame Emperor and whoever this man was were both in positions of power in whatever force they were facing. Dimitri found himself quickly disliking the stranger more and more.

“You are our greatest creation,” the strange man continued in a proud voice that made Dimitri feel sick to his stomach. “We used the defiled beast's blood as the fuel to your flame, that you may burn even the gods. Now is the time to cleanse Fódlan of that power and bring forth our salvation.”

“There will be no salvation for you and your kind,” said the Flame Emperor, his voice dripping with disdain even through the distorter. “Those responsible for such gruesome deeds in Duscur and Enbarr.”

 _Duscur. I knew it._ Dimitri was finding this conversation difficult to follow, and he wasn’t sure how this tied into his theory about Arundel, but it was clear this group had something to do with the Tragedy. And it was clear from what they had done to Byleth’s father that they had no more respect for any person who got in the way of their despicable plans. The Flame Emperor was the leader of this group and he needed to die.

The painful pulsing in Dimitri’s head intensified until it was almost blinding and he couldn’t tell if the color he was seeing was red or black.

The strange white-haired man was saying something else, but the words made no sense to Dimitri. All the prince could focus on were his two targets at the end of his tunnel vision.

“I've got you...” he growled, reaching for his sword. “Finally...”

Byleth’s eyes shifted to him and he could tell she instantly recognized his intent. “Let’s keep listening,” she whispered firmly, a note of low urgency in her voice. It was phrased as a suggestion but spoken like a command. She was clearly hoping to be able to find out even more, perhaps to understand whatever complicated agenda the enemies were talking about.

But Dimitri knew that they didn’t have much time to stand around and wait. He doubted the three would be standing there conspiring for much longer. “If we don't act now, we'll miss our chance!” he hissed.

To his horror, when he looked back up at the trio, they had all turned his way. The red eyes of the Flame Emperor’s mask seemed to stare directly into his soul for a moment before the masked man whipped out a dagger. With a quick flick of his wrist and the flash of a blade, the Flame Emperor threw the dagger directly at Dimitri, and he had to dodge swiftly to the side to avoid being hit.

The villains quickly conferred together. “Hmph. Even if someone has overhead us, there is nothing they can do,” said the white-and-blood-haired man. “There have always been rats in the walls, and there always will be.”

The Flame Emperor glared at the strange man in silence for a moment. Then the three intruders disappeared one after another in flashes of purple light. Dimitri and Byleth ran over together to investigate where the dagger had fallen to the ground, thankfully having missed the spot he and Byleth had been standing by quite a large margin. Perhaps in his haste, the emperor had in fact not focused on Dimitri and the Professor and had simply thrown the blade in the direction of the whispered voices he must have heard.

As he knelt to pick up the weapon, he felt his heart drop low into his stomach, his pulse slowing yet hammering hard in dread. “No... The dagger...” He heard his voice as if the words were someone else’s. He couldn’t seem to form coherent thoughts even in his mind, let alone voice them aloud in a way that made sense.

“What about the dagger?” Byleth asked intently. He could feel her gaze on him and for a moment he was struck with the thought that she knew exactly where his mind had flashed to; the idea that his brain was now desperately trying to avoid like a magnet pushing forcefully away from another of the same charge.

“It...no,” he said, refusing to believe it. “Never mind. It couldn't possibly be so.” He tried to focus on what was more important. “Professor, those are the ones we must destroy. They're the bastards who killed my family and Jeralt. For now, let's return to the monastery and regroup. As for the Flame Emperor's dagger...I'll hold on to it for the time being.”

Byleth nodded, and Dimitri felt a flicker of thankfulness that she did not question him further. Before today, the thought that she must trust him as much as he trusted her would have made him happy, but his heart was constricting so painfully and his mind was racing through dark thoughts so fast that he didn’t think he would ever feel happiness ever again.

At the end of the month, he talked Lady Rhea and Seteth into letting his class and their Professor go after Monica where she was hiding in the woods. They pursued Jeralt’s killer as a single unit, all of one mind to make her pay, and Dimitri couldn’t help but admire their class’s ruthlessly effective teamwork the way one might admire a pack of wolves on the hunt. Most of all, he admired the strength in Byleth’s face, the steely determination he saw in her eyes. He wished he could be like her, knowing what was right, knowing what to do, and knowing that he could do it. Deep inside, he felt the twisting, sickening sense that he would never know what was right again. That nothing would ever be right for him again.

He watched as Byleth got closer to Monica, whose real name turned out to be Kronya and whose real face turned out to be as gray as a corpse. He watched Solon appear and turn on Kronya, ripping her heart out of her chest. He watched Solon use it to cast a spell on Byleth that caused his beloved Professor to disappear. He threatened Solon with the most painful death he could possibly imagine. He watched Byleth slice open the very fabric of existence with the glowing Sword of the Creator, her hair and eyes blazing pale green like Rhea’s. No, so much more than Rhea’s. Like the goddess herself.

Seeing Solon defeated at the hands of the newly godlike Byleth should have given Dimitri some kind of satisfaction, some kind of relief that they had taken two enemies down, some kind of happiness on Byleth’s behalf, some kind of hope that maybe he would be able to succeed in his mission after all. But he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his chest that he wasn’t worthy of the goddess’s help like Byleth was. After all, he wasn’t strong enough to acknowledge the truth that was pressing in with the darkness. And so he refused to face it, gripping the dagger he had given to Edelgard long ago as if squeezing the handle hard enough could turn the blade into one he didn’t recognize.

Inside him, an anger was building. He wasn’t sure what or who he was angry at until the day in the Holy Tomb when he struck the mask off the Flame Emperor’s face and saw that it was indeed his stepsister behind the mask. He was angry at her. He was angry at the world. Why was this happening to him? Whose cruel idea of a joke was it that after losing almost everyone he loved he found out that Edelgard was responsible for Flayn’s capture, Remire Village, and Jeralt’s death? And now after all that she was raiding the Holy Tomb, desecrating a sacred place and the graves of those buried here. And Duscur... If she was the Flame Emperor, that must mean she was involved in the Tragedy as well.

The feeling of betrayal was overwhelming. His heart stung first, and then quickly began to constrict painfully as if someone had grabbed it in their fist at the same time as plunging in a knife and twisting. He could barely breathe around the pain in his chest. And his reaction to that was anger. So much anger and pain flooded through him that it was almost a relief to let the savage darkness fill his mind and wash away all semblance of rational thought.

He would kill her for taking his family from him. He would kill her for making it so that their last moments were in agony and regret. He would kill her for all she had done to the closest thing to family he had left. He would kill her for what this betrayal did to the one person he actually thought he could properly call family.

He was barely aware of Byleth’s concerned hand on his arm. He shrugged her off roughly and kept moving towards Edelgard, who stood staring at him with those dreadfully familiar lavender eyes. He was aware of Imperial soldiers coming at him from both sides, but he easily threw them aside with a few swings of his lance. Staring directly into her unmasked face, he swung his arm back and threw his weapon with as much force as he could muster, feeling his crest flare up in his blood. She didn’t react until his javelin nicked the steely blood red feathers of her collar, and then those eyes widened just a fraction.

“Before I break your neck, there is one thing I must ask you,” he said, his voice cold, threatening and deadly even to his own ears.

“Stay out of my way,” said Edelgard. As if she had any right to tell him what to do. As if she had any right to expect him to just back off and give her whatever she wanted after she had taken everything he’d ever wanted from him.

“I don't recall giving you permission to speak,” he said coldly, gritting his teeth against the painful throbbing that had returned to his head with a vengeance. “Answer my question. That is all you have left to do. Flame Emperor...no.” He couldn’t deny it any longer, no matter how much rage and pain the truth caused him. “Edelgard. Tell me now. Why did you cause such a tragedy?”

Edelgard made an angry sound instead of responding. _So she doesn’t even have an answer._ The thought disgusted him.

“You killed your own mother, and yet you haven't even had the decency to stop and consider the reasons behind your actions,” he said, outraged and appalled. He couldn’t fathom the senseless violence she was apparently capable of. What pleasure could she possibly get out of his family’s murder— her own mother’s murder— he couldn’t understand, yet here she was, playing the part of a tyrant with no explanation for anyone, no good reason to offer. “Have you?!”

“I already told you, I had nothing to do with that,” said Edelgard.

 _Yet you have no other explanation to offer me as to what happened, even though you clearly conspired with another involved_ , he thought, watching her closely. It was clear she had nothing more to say on the matter, and he didn’t think she deserved the benefit of the doubt after what she’d done.

“Ha!” he gave a dark laugh, despair gripping him like the jaws of a beast who already had him trapped in its claws of anger. He shook his head as if he could shake the pain out of it. “It was foolish to think I could reason with a lowly beast.”

Whether or not she was responsible for what happened in Duscur, it was undeniable that she had done terrible things and had no plans of stopping any time soon. Regardless of whether she had been directly involved, she was working with others who undeniably were. The strange white-haired man. Jeralt’s killer. As far as he was concerned, simply claiming to not be involved was just an empty, half-hearted excuse.

“You are a monster,” he said, as two more of her Imperial soldiers came rushing in, shouting at her that she needed to leave. She didn’t even move to help them as they died for her on Dimitri’s lance. _Monster. She’s a monster. If I end things here, my family can finally rest in peace, and she won’t be able to hurt another soul again._

Just as he was preparing himself to throw the lance again, and this time be sure not to miss, a flash of purple light brought Hubert into the room. The Emperor’s guard dog stood by her side for a moment before the two of them both teleported away. Rhea’s angry voice rang in his ears, but he couldn’t make out her words over the voices of the ghosts that rang even louder.

_She’s getting away!_

_You idiot! If you hadn’t stopped to ask why, her head would be on the ground by now. She didn’t deserve a chance to explain herself._

_What’s wrong with you? Were you stalling? What makes her more important to you than we are?_

“ _Ngah_.” The pressure in Dimitri’s skull was so painful that he couldn’t help but groan aloud. And his stomach sank in a deep, terrible dread. Now that Edelgard was gone, the anger and conviction that had propelled him was being diluted with deep confusion and a sickening horror. He would have to face her again. This time he had acted on impulse, but in the next battle, he would have to actively plan to plant his spear between the eyes of his childhood best friend. He had to, for his family. Whether he wanted to or not, it was his duty and he had to make it happen, otherwise they would never be able to rest in peace.

“Are you okay?” asked Byleth, coming up by his side.

“We weren’t able to defeat her,” he said, the anger returning to the forefront of his mind, this time against himself. He hated the tiny part of himself that questioned whether it was the right thing to do, to try to kill someone he knew personally. He hated the fact that he had already done so with Lonato and Miklan. Hated himself for having even the tiniest shred of reluctance to kill someone who had done much worse than either of them...

Dedue came up on his other side. “Your Highness...”

“I will kill Edelgard,” he vowed, aware of the ghosts of his loved ones standing just behind the Professor and Dedue, listening in to his every thought and word. “With my own hands. I swear it!”

He closed his eyes and tried to force some calm into his shaking soul before he turned to Byleth and said, “Let's return to the monastery, Professor. It is clear what must be done.”

It was also becoming increasingly clear in the days leading up to Edelgard’s attack on Garreg Mach that he was going through some internal struggle. He was still angry, that much was for certain, and that was what he attempted to focus all his waking moments on. But for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he had some sort of pity left in his heart for the girl. For some reason his mind kept trying to find ways around having to kill her, even though he was certain that she deserved to die for what she had done and that he wanted to kill her with his own hands. He tried to keep himself so busy that he couldn’t think of anything else. He kept repeating the mantra to himself, hoping to talk himself out of any self-doubt: _I must take her head from her shoulders. Then and only then can the dead be at peace._

 _But will I ever be at peace again?_ he couldn’t help but wonder, as he followed the Professor’s instructions around the battlefield that Garreg Mach had become. They dispatched the Death Knight, and in the quiet place left behind on the side of the battlefield, Dimitri finally got his dreaded chance to think. He felt trapped in a haze of agonized indecision. He couldn’t imagine living with himself if he killed Edelgard, but he couldn’t imagine living with himself if he didn’t either. He couldn’t imagine a future beyond the need to eliminate her from this world.

He had once dared to imagine a world after he had fulfilled his purpose, where he could have lived for his friends. He could imagine living for love of them. He told himself all he had to do was kill Edelgard, and perhaps Arundel if he could, and then he would be free to go back to what was right now a temporary peace, spending time with the Blue Lions, defending them, smiling with them, even sometimes laughing.

But he was reminded of the flaw in that selfish wish: other people could always be taken from him. During the battle, the Professor disappeared, and she didn’t come back. She would have come back if she was still alive. She would have never abandoned them, and nothing could have kept her from them.

No matter how hard he tried to keep those he loved—those he would live for—safe, he could still lose them. And then he would have someone else’s ghost standing on his chest, applying pressure until he couldn’t breathe.

In the days that followed, Dimitri struggled to come to terms with what had happened. And it wasn’t long before Dimitri suffered another shaking loss. The Blue Lions returned to Fhirdiad soon after the Battle of Garreg Mach only to find that his uncle Rufus had been murdered. And apparently the blame was on Dimitri himself. Guards seized him immediately, and he was thrown in jail to await his execution.

Dimitri panicked, not for himself, but for the sake of his deceased loved ones. They were not avenged yet. He needed to live until he could accomplish that at least. He tried pounding his fists against the wall and using the strength of his crest, but to no avail. The stone walls and metal bars were too thick and strong for him to break through, even using all of his might. That night, he sat awake in his cell, panicking for more reasons than one.

After the Professor’s disappearance, he dreaded going to sleep at night even more than he used to. Dreaded the thought of her ghost joining the others. Dreaded the thought of hearing her voice in his head, dreaded the thought of forgetting it like the rest.

And he felt he must stay awake, his thoughts going in circles on the inside of his cell, trying desperately to come up with a way to make sure he lived long enough to avenge his fallen loved ones.

In the middle of the night, there was a commotion from outside the bars that disrupted his relentless thoughts. Dedue had come to break him out of prison. The large Duscur man threw aside soldiers guarding Dimitri’s cell, and unlocked the door with a key he’d stolen from one of the guards. For a moment it seemed like they might be able to escape, but then a wave of reinforcements arrived, and their escape became a battle. In the struggle, Dimitri felt someone’s blade slice through his right eye and the world went dark on that side. But through his remaining good eye, he was still able to see clearly as soldiers struck down Dedue.

 _Dedue!_ Dimitri’s own heart seemed to stop beating. He weaved around soldiers attacking him, desperately straining to see if the Duscur man would get up, but he lay unmoving on the ground. The only person he’d ever been able to save had thrown his life away for Dimitri anyway. Another life gone because of him, another person to avenge, another ghost to live for.

When Dimitri saw an opening in the crowd, he thrust his way through it and ran. He hated himself for leaving Dedue’s body behind, but he knew he couldn’t waste his friend’s sacrifice.

Complete and utter solitude for five years straight did nothing for his sanity. When he and the ghosts were the only ones there, it became impossible to tell fiction from reality. He’d always gotten the sense that they weren’t quite really there before, and avoided talking to them in front of other people, but now they seemed just as real as any other person. He could hear them and see them, and what was easier to believe? That his senses were playing tricks on him and he couldn’t trust anything they alerted him to? Or the idea that they were real? He didn’t know which was the right answer and either way, he felt insane.

He missed his Professor terribly. He tried to keep her alive in his memories during the daytime as much as he dared, but feared a reminder that might come to him unbidden in the night if he called thoughts of her to mind too much.

The day she reappeared, he was certain she had finally joined the ghosts haunting him. In his head or outside it, incorporeal or corporeal, and illusion or real, it didn’t matter; the fact that he was seeing her meant she was dead and it was his fault. His responsibility to avenge her. A sick feeling sank deep in his stomach at the thought of another kill to make. Another person’s regrets adding to the already overwhelming pressure on him to do something he didn’t feel was the right thing to do but knew he had to because forgetting the dead was just as wrong.

That was the way life was, it seemed. There was no right answer, except something he couldn’t do: not feel. Killing Edelgard felt wrong. Leaving his family unavenged felt wrong. Living without them felt wrong. Going to join them before fulfilling his responsibility to kill Edelgard felt wrong. If both options for every choice felt wrong, what was the right thing to do? Put others first, he felt, so he pushed and pushed and pushed himself towards that revenge because at least if others were happy maybe he could die in peace even if he could still never live with himself.

Dimitri almost couldn’t believe it when Byleth offered him her hand and said everything would be okay. If she was reassuring instead of demanding, it meant she must be alive, but how could that be? How could she not look a day older than when he had lost her five years ago? He knew he looked completely different from the glimpses he tried not to see of himself in the reflective surfaces he passed by: an enormous bloodstained beast with long shaggy hair and only a single eye, the place where the other should be covered by a dark patch.

He couldn’t believe this good thing had returned to his life, so he forcibly doubted it. If she was alive there must be some sort of twist. She was working for the Empire as a spy. She was here to kill him.

Or maybe she was here for him. But things couldn’t possibly stay that way. There was no way anything would work out in a way that made him happy. If she was here for him, surely it was only because she hadn’t seen the true horrors of who he was, the despicable person he had become. Surely there was no way she could care about someone as terrible as he, when after all, years ago, she had told him she shared his aversion to having to kill. The aversion he had buried deep, told himself he had no right to feel, so he could kill and kill and kill, over and over again. He felt sick and angry and hate-filled at the thought, and surely she would too soon enough.

He wasn’t strong enough to do what needed to be done to avenge his family. Even after all the work he had done to squash the traitorous compassion out of his heart, he struggled so much at the thought of killing the girl who was also his family, and such a dear friend from his childhood. It made him sick to his stomach to think about killing her, but far worse was the terrible anxiety that gripped him at the thought of leaving his family to suffer in regret for eternity. He honestly wasn’t sure what he believed; whether he truly believed their souls continued to exist in torment, or whether they were totally gone, leaving him alone in this world with the responsibility to decide what they would have wanted and make it happen. Either way he was suffocating under the pressure, and the weight of his own continuous failure.

And at the same time as he pushed himself to be crueler, unfeeling, unforgiving, he heard the hate and scorn Felix snapped at him and to the others behind his back. He knew he was a monster to them, and he hated himself for it. But to abandon his cruelty would be to abandon his family and his whole purpose for living. Even if he gave this up, he had nothing and no one to turn to. His whole life seemed empty and terrifying without the thought of the one thing that gave him direction even as it tortured him until he himself felt mad but still couldn’t stop the tirade of angry words pouring out of his mouth.

At times he just wanted to break down and cry, but he knew he had no right to do so. His parents had suffered so much and died. What right did he have to complain about living? Sometimes he dreamed about joining them, about being able to let go and finally be freed from the never-ending struggle. But then fear clutched his heart at the thought of what they might say to him if the afterlife existed and he had the nerve to join them there without first avenging them.

 _You had one task and you couldn’t even do that_ , the voices sneered in his head. He couldn’t tell whose it was anymore: Glenn’s, or perhaps his father’s, or one of the Duscur people he had slaughtered in the massacre he couldn’t stop even as he believed in their innocence. He’d long forgotten what any of their individual voices sounded like, even after he promised himself years ago that he would never do so, replaying his father’s demand for revenge in his head over and over again just to ensure he would remember that voice, until he could no longer remember whether that was something the king had actually said or a figment of Dimitri’s own imagination. _We would have done so much more with our lives than you if we’d gotten to live, you worthless boy. You should’ve died instead of us if you weren’t going to even accomplish anything._

Dimitri found himself pushing Byleth away with harsh words. It was best not to let her get too close. She would soon see who he had let himself become over the past five years and realize there was no one left worth believing in. She would see that Felix had been right about him all along, that he was a monster not worth respecting or trusting as a human being. It was best to spare himself the pain of letting himself hope she would not eventually recoil from him in disgust just like the rest of them. Best to show her the worst he could possibly be right away and chase her off before he could start hoping. Hope was only something that would lead to more pain when it was inevitably let down and crushed.

But Byleth was surprisingly persistent. Even when he threatened to strike her down if she got in his way, she didn’t leave. Even when he threatened to use her and the rest of what had used to be their friends— only hers now— until there was nothing left of them but bone, she did not flinch away in fear or turn away in disgust. She looked directly into his eyes and he had a feeling that she saw into his soul, or what was left of it anyway, and could tell his words were only that: words.

No matter how terrible they were, they were just words pouring out of him. Words he knew sounded harsh but he couldn’t seem to stop uttering. He briefly entertained the thought of stopping and saying he was sorry. But he needed her to hate him as much as he hated himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of her opinion of him not lining up with reality. _Look at me and see the monster I have become! Hate me! Tell me I’m right to see myself as evil!_

But she wouldn’t say anything of the sort. She continued to come to the cathedral every day as if he hadn’t said such cruel unforgivable things. She was so stoic and calm, able to tuck away her emotions and listen to his ranting, unperturbed in a way he envied.

It wasn’t a lack of care—he could see that, even in his deeply confused and irrational state. If she didn’t care, he knew she would not keep coming back at all. But how could she care and not let it hurt her? The only options he could see for himself was to care too deeply and let the guilt and pain drive him insane, or to suppress all emotion and hate himself.

He held onto the idea of killing Edelgard. He knew it was wrong, but when every other option was wrong too, he could only hold onto the idea of just ending the source of all his pain and indecision. Once she was gone, he would no longer have to agonize over whether it was the right thing to do. He would no longer have to deal with the pressure of having the unfinished task of revenge weighing over his head. He could just lay down and die and feel the relief of being able to finally rest without anything stopping him.

Dimitri was sure that when they faced the Empire at Gronder he would get his chance. After all, the Professor was at his side, and her tactics had never failed the Blue Lions before. She seemed to be planning to go to Edelgard herself, but her directions were for him to follow close behind as she approached the emperor. He wasn’t sure if Byleth planned to kill Edelgard or try to talk to her, but he gripped his javelin tightly in his hand as the two of them approached. He would be ready to claim her life if Byleth didn’t.

But then Claude was coming at them from the side on his wyvern, and in the chaos, Dimitri found he didn’t have a clear shot at Edelgard without risking hitting Byleth as she danced out of the way of the Alliance leader’s attacks. And despite what he had said about striking her down if she was in his way, there was no way he would actually do such a thing. Edelgard seemed to know this, and kept herself firmly on the other side of Byleth and Claude in their four-way tangle. When Claude bowed out of the fight, Dimitri tried to dodge around Byleth with a vicious attack, but Byleth was already sending Edelgard retreating with a blow of the Sword of the Creator. The emperor glared at Byleth and said something about the Professor not making things easy for her before she hefted up her axe and turned to escape with the tattered remains of her army.

Dimitri let out a howl of frustration and despair. If she got away now, he would have to endure months of torture and psych himself up all over again to go through with this. He had to end this now or he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to do so. But he had to spare precious time notifying Rodrigue and Byleth of his plans, and by the time he actually tried to follow, he has missed his window. The young girl who had joined their army to avenge her brother came running out of nowhere and with a flash of silver, stabbed him in the back.

He toppled to his knees under the blow. Pain seared through his lower back and into the muscles of his stomach.

“This is for my brother!” she howled. “DIE!”

But before she could plunge the dagger in a second time—before Dimitri could decide whether he wanted to move out of the way or not—Rodrigue leapt in the way of the strike. The older man called out to Byleth and a moment later she was there, striking their attacker down with a lash of her holy sword.

Dimitri’s heart twisted in pain, dread, and fear. He couldn’t watch another father figure die, couldn’t watch it happen right in front of him because of him, couldn’t bear the weight of another life on his shoulders. He begged Rodrigue not to die.

“This is my fault... I... I'm the one who killed you, as surely as though I had wielded the blade!” Guilt overwhelmed him, painful in every way imaginable: stinging, stabbing, weighing on him, drowning him. The girl’s blade had been meant for him, and well deserved by the sound of it. _It should have been me, not you, Rodrigue._

The older man smiled. “Heh. Your Highness. You have one thing... terribly wrong. None of them... none of us... died for you. I'm dying for what I believe in... just as they did. Your life is your own. It belongs to no other, living or dead. Live for what you believe in.” His eyes started to glaze over. “Dimitri... My boy... You really do look just like His Majesty...”

Dimitri felt numb as the life went out of Rodrigue’s eyes. He felt numb as someone, probably Byleth, touched his shoulder and pulled him away from Rodrigue’s body. He didn’t have the energy or the emotion to think to ask about what would happen to his body. A distant part of him felt cynically as if it didn’t matter anyway. The soul was gone. The ghost would reappear in his mind no matter what happened to the corpse.

That night, Dimitri tried to sneak away. All he knew was that he needed to kill Edelgard or at the very least die trying. He couldn’t live like this anymore. He couldn’t close his eyes and see Rodrigue’s face with the rest.

But somehow Byleth knew. Or maybe she just got lucky. Either way, she appeared before him, cornering him before he could get away undetected.

“What do you want?” he demanded. He was so tired, and he was certain she could hear it in his voice.

She asked him where he was going. “It doesn’t concern you,” he said, instead of answering.

“It does,” she insisted.

Maybe she somehow knew that he was only a push away from losing it completely. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he broke down. Wasn’t sure there was anything on the other side. So he did his best to not let it happen, even though in the back of his mind he knew Byleth would never do anything to him that would hurt more than help. But he was so scared of facing that vast, uncertain void, and so he held onto the hell he was familiar with as if it were a lifeline.

“Get out of my way,” he snapped. Or at least he tried to; his voice was shaking. “Now.”

Byleth ignored him. “You’re going to Enbarr, aren’t you?” she pressed.

It was obvious to her. Of course it was. He had talked about nothing else for the past few months, ever since she had gotten back. And from the way she was looking at him, he was sure she at least suspected his other reason for wanting to go.

“Do you really think that will appease the dead?” she asked him.

“Silence,” he said harshly, desperately. “You have no idea what you're talking about.” Words spilled out of him; more words than he had spoken to her or anyone in a long time. “Death is the end. No matter how much lingering regret a person has, after death, they are powerless. They cannot even wish for revenge, much less seek it out. Hatred. Regret. Those burdens fall on the shoulders of those who are left behind.” _It’s all on me to try to figure out what they would have wanted and get it done. And even though I have no idea what’s right anymore, I have to finish what I’ve started._ “And so I must continue down this path! I already told you as much! It is far too late to stop.”

“It isn’t,” she insisted, and he knew he had given himself away. That something had changed within him and he realized that at least part of him wanted to stop. “There must be another way.”

“Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should move on with my life for their sake,” he said. He had heard it all before and he didn’t know how to make it feel right. “That is merely the logic of the living. It's meaningless. Those who died with lingering regret... They will not loose their hold on me so easily.” He didn’t know how to let go of them. It was true that his vow of vengeance was an immense pressure on him, but it was also the only thing he was living for. Without it, he wasn’t sure what he would have left. Maybe he wouldn’t be in pain, but how could he live an empty life with nothing motivating him to live either?

Dimitri was suddenly desperate to ask her. He had been so afraid to before, so afraid that the one person who had never failed him would give him an answer he couldn’t follow, like all the others. He was so afraid that the last person who had hope for him and let him maintain hope in himself would give him a task far above his ability and he would be forced to face the fact that there was no hope for him after all.

“But you seem to have all the answers...” he said, forcing out the pained words past the suffocating fear weighing on his chest. “So tell me, professor. Please, tell me... How do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I... How do I save them?

“Ever since that day nine years ago... I have lived only to avenge the fallen,” he admitted. “Even my time at the Officers Academy was all so that I could secure my revenge and clear away the regret of the dead. It was the only thing that kept me alive... My only reason to keep moving forward...”

_Without that, what do I have?_

_What do I have left if I let it go?_

“You must forgive yourself,” Byleth said gently. Compassion shone in her luminous green eyes. At some point it had begun to rain; he couldn’t tell if the water that was running down his face was from the sky or from his own eyes. She reached up to brush some of the moisture off his face, and in the cold wetness, he just barely felt the warm brush of her fingers. “You’ve suffered enough.”

“But then who... or what... should I live for?” he asked her, feeling trepidatious. Without the pressure weighing down on him, he felt free, as if he had been completely cut loose from the bonds that had been tethering him to his hopeless fate and impossible choice. But with that freedom... he felt lost. He was no longer being dragged along by the ropes, but without that tug, however merciless it had been, he had no direction to go.

She thought about that for a moment. “Live for what you believe in,” she said, quoting Rodrigue.

He echoed the words back musingly. He wanted to, so badly, he realized. The idea of being able to live for himself and follow the guidance of his own conscience without the pressures of what others told him was right... the idea sent a wave of pure relief over him. But...

“But is it possible...? I am a murderous monster,” he said anxiously. He held out his hands in front of him, and even without the pressure of feeling as if he needed to talk them into killing anyone else, he was still horrified by the thought of what they had already done. “My hands are stained red. Could one such as I truly hope for such a life? As a killer and as the sole survivor of that day, do I... Do I have the right to live for myself?”

 _Is that really alright?_ he wondered. _I want it so badly but to try to take something like this for myself, after all the harm I’ve caused others... to try to be happy... to try to feel at peace... do I have that right?_

As her answer, Byleth held out her hand to him. He stared at it for a moment, reminded of the day they had reunited, when she had reached out to him in just the same way. Back then, he hadn’t taken her hand. But... Byleth had told him that the answering to his suffering was to forgive himself. And that meant not beating down on himself for what he had done in the past. It meant moving forward and trying to do better in the future, without getting caught up in the guilt over a past he could not change.

He carefully took her hand in his own. It felt much warmer than he was expecting. With a bit of a shock, he realized that it had been so long since he had touched another human being that he had forgotten something as simple as the fact that people were warm to the touch. He closed his eyes with a shudder, lacing his fingers through hers.

“Your hands are so warm... Have they always been?”


End file.
